Sway
by redisaid
Summary: Princess Bubblegum decides she's had enough after What Was Missing. She just didn't really think things through before showing up on Marceline's doorstep.


Princess Bubblegum knows as soon as she knocks that this is a terrible idea, but it's too late now. She was over this. She has so many other things to worry about, important things. Experiments are gathering dust in the lab. She has a treaty signing to attend in the morning. Before her knuckles even leave the wood of the front door, she regrets knocking, being there, existing even—but it's too late to turn back now.

She doesn't know what she wants to say. "So that song led me to think that you still uh, think about me," sounds too clinical even with the awkward pause. "Why were you crying back then?" is the sort of all too direct question that wouldn't even get answered at best of times. "I miss you," admits too much too soon.

She sighs and wonders if Marceline is even home. That would almost be too funny—her flying all the way out here at night—in the rain—to find an empty house. Behind her, the soaked Morrow screeches his discontent and it echoes in the cave. No one is happy with her right now. "I guess I deserve it," she says to the unmoving wood.

The door opens, startling the princess. One can't exactly listen for footsteps when standing at the door of someone who prefers to float.

"Bonnie?" Marceline is definitely not expecting her. She looks scared.

"Please—" is all she gets out before the door slams on her. "Wait!" she screams. She can feel tears pool in her lower lids. No. She promised herself. She was done with all of this. Of course, that is a horrible lie. She's not, but that's why she's here. "I thought—ugh! You never let me talk!"

The door opens again. Marceline obviously hasn't moved away from it. She doesn't even look at her. She stares at her nails—ruby red claws that seem primed to rip the pink princess to shreds. "There are some things that don't need explaining twice. You broke my heart and you weren't sorry about it then, so I don't know why you're here now."

Yup. It's pretty obvious. There's no need to ask what that song was about anymore. They usually managed to keep things cool between them when they had to meet, but having others around helped. With Finn and Jake in tow, Marceline would usually offer her a raspberry and a few snarky comments while otherwise ignoring her. Bonnibel would roll her eyes in response and get on with life. She was trying. She really was. "I..."

A rebellious tear lets loose then gets lost in the rain water that coats her face. It pulls that thin layer of moisture down her cheek and tumbles rapidly down her neck before coming to rest in a small pool on her clavicle. She is mortified by it, but hopes that it goes unnoticed. It doesn't. Marceline watches it the whole way down, her eyes like a snake's watching a fat mouse. She strikes. "Are you crying?"

How can she say it? She didn't cry at first. She felt empty, but right. It was the best thing to do. Getting serious was never an option for her, never a consideration. She had a kingdom to run. She had work to do. Their fling was as fun as it was unexpected. She expected it to end as quickly as it began. When it didn't, and she broke it off, she didn't cry. It took about a week. She rolled over in bed one night and found herself grasping at nothing but a pillow. It was only then that she realized she had made a horrible mistake. "I..."

And then her face is wet all over again. There's not even a storm to blame this time, at least not within the shelter of the cave. What can she even say? Marceline didn't take it well. At first she nodded slowly, said she understood. She went to leave, but turned back to scream. She said she really loved her. She asked how she could be so cold. She asked if this was her plan all along, to treat her like some experiment—toying with her until she grew tired of her and moved onto the next interesting thing. Bubblegum's defenses were solid and her determination steadfast. She couldn't do this. She couldn't let it distract her from her kingdom.

But her face changes. She was scared, then predatory, but now the snake's scales are growing lax. They drop, softening into a face that is just Marceline—not a smirk, not a wolf or a bat or some great demonic beast. It's a young face, one she's been covering up for a long time. It wants to trust her, but its smooth features are hesitant and suspicious—so much like a shy child's. She reaches out, tips Bubblegum's face up to examine her closely as she sobs into those cold hands.

"Why didn't you say something?" Marceline asks. "It's been so long..."

"I..." Bubblegum tries again. She wants to say so much. She misses her. She misses how she smells—earthy like old library books and sand and dew and stale cherry cough drops. She misses being pulled away from her work and into situations and places she'd never imagined herself in. She misses pretending to dislike being flown about in her arms. She misses her voice, and how she used to sing for her—just her—and how it sounded so different than any other time she sang. But she can't say anything.

It's so odd, being confined to this choking silence. She's usually the verbose one. She's used to boring everyone with her lectures. Even Marceline would eventually sigh at her or try to distract her with those cold hands. She doesn't try again. She rushes up the steps that separate them and reaches out desperately, drawing the vampire into her arms.

The floodgates open onto a gray shoulder. "I thought you hated me. You should hate me. I'm the worst. I acted like I didn't care about you because I thought it was what I had to do. I was so wrong. I thought I had it all figured out and that it would work and we'd both be okay. I'm not okay. I haven't been okay. And then you left and I couldn't even take it back if I wanted to. And then you came back and things seemed so different and I'd gotten myself so wrapped up in everything else that I..."

Just as she loses steam, she's floating. It's like everything she's held in has left her and she's light as air. Either that, or a vampire has picked her up. It's actually the latter. Marceline lifts her effortlessly. She deposits her in a chair—a comfy one—not the rock hard couch. "You can keep going," she offers against Bubblegum's ear before she floats off.

"I should've thought about what I wanted to say before I came here," the princess confesses as she watches her ex disappear into the kitchen.

She's met with a clattering of pots and pans for a reply.

Bubblegum sighs. This whole thing is still a bad idea, but it's made her feel better already. She wants to wait to let her stupidity flow again. If nothing else, Marceline deserves this face to face. Instead she looks around, remembering how cozy and private this little cottage is, how much she preferred it to their clandestine meetings in her own sparse and hollow chambers. The old poodle wanders up to her and licks rain water from her boots. She remembers him too.

Marceline comes back. She hands her a towel first, then a cup of tea. "Five sugars, right?"

She remembered. The princess nods and sips. It's sweet and perfect—exactly the way she likes it. The towel, while appreciated, is quickly forgotten between her thigh and an arm of the chair. She's almost crying again as takes another sip of the tea.

Marceline floats in front of her, sitting cross-legged in the air. A faint smile slips onto her lips. A bit of fang pops out and shines in the warm light of the cottage. She's about to speak, then stops. "Wait," she says before floating off across the room. She retrieves a matching chair from the corner and places it down in front of Bubblegum's, then sits in it. "There."

She always used to scold her about that, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. It used to bother her on occasion. She'd pull her down, asking her to walk or sit or to just be still for a second. It was more normal that way—more real. It felt better to hold her hand and not feel like she was holding onto a balloon. Right now, she doesn't feel like scolding her for anything. The tea is perfect. Her house is perfect. Her little dog is perfect even. She's perfect. "I miss you Marcy," she finally says.


End file.
